Help Me Remember
by LoveShouldDie
Summary: With her husband away and memory loss of Erik and their forbidden love due to an accident, Christine finds herself at the Opera Populaire holding onto her fathers words that he would send her the Angel of Music. Will Erik help Christine remember her past
1. Once Upon a December

_A/N: If you are reading this story for the first time, by all means feel free to ignore. To my other faithful dear readers/reviewers, I'm sorry to inform you that I have decided to rewrite Help Me Remember, seeing how its still so early into the story and if I didn't do this it would of been not to my expectations. Please, don't be mad. The same plot is included, just the beginning is different and a major fact that has changed is that Raoul is not dead. Please don't make this a reason for you to stop reading, i have a feeling you all will like this version much better and plus I have no intentions on doing this again because I have brainstormed the entire story over the past two weeks and can't wait to share it with you all.  
-Maddie_

**_~Chapter One- Once Upon a December~_**

_Silent tears are frozen by winter's bitter cold_

_A lonesome girl wanders afraid, with a past foretold_

_Courage is in her grasp, but is overshadowed by fear_

_A lullaby gives her strength to hope that her father is near_

* * *

The howling wind roared as a girl wandered alone through winter's bitter night, unaware of where she was heading nor how she came to be deserted on a landmass of snow with no one in sight. Her feet were numb from traveling in the wet, freezing, white snow and the girl's entire body shivered violently as the cold wind blew across her face. However, she had no intention of giving up anytime soon. There was one reason that the helpless girl continued to wander alone: she needed to get to her father.

Every memory inside the woman's mind seemed to float around; moving too fast for her to keep grasp onto. Her only solid memory that she could hold onto was her sick father needing her assistance; needing to see her smiling face and hear her sing beautiful melodies to him as he fought a horrific case of pneumonia. She wouldn't give up, she knew her father needed her more than anything. One step at a time, she fought the harsh winds and freezing cold as she journeyed, looking for the slightest hint of where she might be heading.

She had awoken two hours earlier, lying in the snow with no one around her and her head pounding tremendously. The clothes she was wearing were torn in some places and her cascading curly brown hair was undone from the once secure hairpins that kept it secure. She attempted calling for help once she first woke up, but when no one seemed to hear her, she began to wander alone, taking paths she did not recognize that lead her to god knows where.

The girl did not remember much of anything at all. She remembered her name, of course, her violinist father, and living in Sweden as a young girl. Everything else seemed to be wiped away from her brain; she had not the slightest idea of what the date was today or where on earth she was. The girl gave up on trying to remember the past events that lead up to this moment, knowing that if she didn't the rambling questions inside her mind would never be put to an end, and put all her focus on finding her father.

As she walked throughout the cold two feet high snow, a soft tune played inside her head. A lullaby, it sounded like, which she was not sure who the composer was to, but it was no doubt, a contributing factor to keeping her alive and walking. Softly she hummed it, giving her more strength to travel throughout the cold, trying to imagine what the words were to the unearthly lullaby.

She was not quite sure how far she had traveled since she woke up, but she definitely believed it had to be far. The view ahead of her was no longer a never ending field of white snow, but instead the outskirts of what looked like a city. Not too far ahead, she could see a faint outline of a tall sky scraping tower, one that signaled her where she was.

Paris, France.

The city of love, she remembered, was somewhere her father always wanted to perform at as a musician. She wondered if her father could possibly be here, fully restored with health and waiting frantically for her to arrive back to him. The thought of her father and the city of Paris helped recover the memory of her father telling her once about the grand Opera House, located in Paris, that he dreamt of one day performing in. Along with that, she could vaguely remember her father telling her that before her mother had passed away, she also dreamt of having the pleasure to perform at the Opera Populair, but not as a dancer; as a singer.

In the big city of Paris, she knew that would have to the first place to look. Why else would she be in Paris in the first place? Surely she could not of traveled somewhere without her farther, and there was no doubt that her father would come to such a beautiful city without the opportunity to play at the Opera. She decided she would go with her instinct, and took a path through the city, letting her feet and ambition guide her to the Opera House that she had not the slightest clue where it was located not what it appeared to look like.

The city was vacant, making her only resource for light the gleams produced from the full moon above. The girl imagined families all around her were bundled up in a blanket together, drinking warm tea or coffee, while enjoying the heat from their fireplace and listening to their father play the a soft tune from a fiddle. Her heart ached, everyone here in this city belonged somewhere, but she was alone...alone and scared.

Fear was something that everyone seems to fail to inform you about when you are young, thought the girl. They tell you to set your goals high and to not be afraid to dream, but no one ever seems to mention the terrifying sensation of angst. It's one of the many things the girl would have to experience on her own. Never had she ever felt so scared in her life, her father was like her guardian; without him everything seemed meaningless. She shuddered away the thought of what would happen if she never found him.

A stray dog barked in an alley to the left of the girl, making her jump and pace a little faster than normal to stay away from the creature, not wanting to cause trouble. She looked up into the night sky, to see flakes of snow begin to descend down from the grayish clouds once again, making her shiver at the thought of the temperature getting colder than it already was. A scarf she bore was the only other thing besides her lightweight cloak that gave her warmth. Her long brown curly hair, which was now covered with snow and frost at the top, helped as well.

Straight ahead, she saw a building, which no doubt was the Opera Popualir. Even though she never remembered seeing it before, she knew that this was it, it's elegant architecture and mysteriousness to it had "opera" written all over it. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of it and the first smile since she was awake encroached across her face at the thought that her father was inside.

Forgetting that she had no clue of how she came to be deserted on the outskirts of Paris or why her memories seemed to be gone with the wind, she raced her way up the white marble exterior steps. She ignored the pain of the cold wind against her face, and only set her mind on being with her father once again. Rushing past the exquisite arches, she ran straight for the main entrance, putting her hand on the gold knob. There was only one problem though, one thing that drained all her hope.

It was locked.

"H- Hello?" She said, with her breath clearly visible; not knowing if anyone heard her or not as she continuously banged the door knocker.

After what she felt like was an eternity of knocking, the girl sighed, thinking she was at defeat. She had gotten this far, thought the girl, she wouldn't let a silly lock prevent her from entering. As she paced back and forth, the brown eyed girl attempted to devise a plan. Once an idea struck her, the light pitter-patter of her steps was the only sound in Paris as she journeyed around to the back of the Opera House. Someone was bound to leave a door unlocked there, she thought.

There was what seemed to be thousands of smaller doors all around the back, making the hope inside her grow smaller and smaller. She checked just about every single one, all of which were locked and secure from any intruders. One door remained though, knowing it was her last option, the girl closed her eyes and gingerly placed her porcelain hand upon the knob. Slowly, she began to twist the doorknob until she heard a small click.

It was unlocked.

Her heart was restored with hope, as she entered the astonishing Opera House. The door she opened led her into what she thought was an office, due to the all the shelves that contained books and a mahogany desk that was cluttered with papers and folders. She exited it right away, and made her way to the entrance room.

Her breathing almost came to a stop as she took in the marvelous Opera House, she tried to suck in every detail as she slowly walked on the shining tile floor, which was so clean you could easily see you reflection. She looked up at the roof, admiring the decoration, and was amazed to see staircases attiring red velvet carpets, come from every each direction, making the Opera House seem more as a palace than a theater. Oh, how the girl would die to spend the rest of her life in the Opera Populair.

Something triggered her mind about the looks of the building; it was like she had dreamt of it before at night. The atmosphere was so familiar and the smell of roses and candle wax called to her mind. These strange little things all made her mind twirl, she had to of been here before, she was certain of it.

"This place," she whispered trance like, mesmerized by the Opera House, "it's like a forgotten dream."

She walked out onto the empty entrance floor that was big enough to be a grand ballroom itself. In her mind, she imagined masked men and women, waltzing as they masqueraded themselves throughout the room. She got so caught up in her imagination, for a minute or so she fantasized dancing and singing along to the lullaby in her head with lyrics that seemed to come out of her mouth without any thought.

"_Dancing figures_  
_Engagement rings_  
_Things I almost remember_  
_And a song someone sings_  
_Once upon a December_"

She sang, forgetting that she was on a mission to look for her father, and not having a care in the world.

"_Someone holds me safe and warm_  
_A voice teaches me to perform_  
_Figures dancing gracefully_  
_Across my memory_"

Figures all around her, dressed in light shades of gold, black, and sliver, waltzed with masks covering their faces. They all were figments of her imagination, but seemed so real to her. She could not help but dance along with them, imagining herself wearing a light purple glimmering dress. She danced along with an imaginary man that was beyond handsome. His disarming smile and rich laughter seemed to make her think about her child hood, but she didn't know why.

"_Far away_  
_Long ago_  
_Glowing dim as an ember_  
_Things my heart used to know_  
_Once upon a December_"

While the other dancers remained, the man she danced with, that triggered her mind about her childhood, disappeared; disintegrating in the air while taking her happiness with her. She felt in an imaginary tap on her shoulder shortly after and turned around, causing her purple ball gown to sway, to find a masked man, covering only half of his face asking for a dance. She agreed, and felt a smile encroach her face once again when the half masked man bowed to her and placed his gloved hand on her hip and twirled her to the tune of the lullaby she had been hearing in her head.

Just as the other man did, the half masked man disintegrated as well, making her sway alone. It wasn't long until than both of the men reappeared, both asking for a dance. Who to choose, she thought worriedly, completely forgetting the dancing figures were only a part of her imagination.

"_Someone keeps me away from a man deformed_  
_Did he love me? Was I informed?_  
_Figures dancing gracefully_  
_Across my memory_"

Not knowing why he appealed to her more, she chose the half masked man and continued dancing. She laughed out loud, feeling happier than she ever remembered. Who ever knew that make believe was such a exhilarating past time.

"_Far away long ago_  
_Glowing dim as an ember_  
_Things my heart used to know_  
_Things it yearns to remember_  
_And a song someone sings_"

The masked man stopped dancing as she felt the lullaby coming to an end. She could feel her memory slipping away again, but she tried with all her might to hold onto it. Everyone around the girl and the imaginary half masked man disappeared, leaving the real girl and imaginary man face to face, looking within one another eyes. She found herself being sucked more into her imagination and leaning in to what she hoped to be a kiss. Hesitantly, the man began to lean in as well, making her heart nearly stop, but once their lips were inches away from touching, she could begin to feel her memory slipping. Everything that she had just imagined felt more like a dream than real thoughts inside her mind.

The masked man disappeared as her memory did too, leaving her alone in the Opera House again, forcing her mind to return to reality.

"_Once upon a December_."

"Christine." A chill was sent down her spine and the joyful warm atmosphere returned to cold and ghostly, as male voice whispered her name, not as a question, but as a statement.

Her first thought was that the person whose voice spoke her name was her father, but the voices did not match up. She looked all about her, wondering how on earth a man knew her name that she did not recognize, but was upset when she found no one around her. Was she imagining it?

She then heard a pitter-patter of footsteps descending down one of the staircase. Her heart raced, and she frantically looked all around trying to find the source of the footsteps, but could see no one in the dim candle light. She tried to hide, not wanting to get kicked out of the only environment where she could search for her father.

But she knew it was too late once the steps were silenced as a woman that Christine did not recognize, laid his eyes upon her face.

"Christine?" The woman's voice questioned more to herself out of shock than to her.

Christine simply nodded at the woman, which she could not recollect, but knew they must of have met before since she knew her first name. If this woman knew who Christine was, than the probability of her knowing where her father's whereabouts were was high. Maybe, Christine thought, she had been to Paris before. Maybe, this wasn't the first time she had entered the Opera Populair. And most certainly, maybe the two men in her fantasy that she danced with were more than figments of her imagination.


	2. Forced Goodbyes

**~Chapter Two- Forced Goodbyes~**

_She looks at his grave in utter despair _

_Questioning how could life be so unfair_

_Death, she knew, would someday come for us all_

_But never did she imagine his death would be something she couldn't recall_

* * *

A day of rehearsals at the Opera House was like living an eternity in hell; painful and unbearable. Madame Giry heaved a heavy sigh as she stood off to the side of the stage as a conflict began between the managers and Carlotta, right on schedule. Countless times she wished that the Opera's once Phantom would threaten her to be quiet just for one minute, and stop blaming everyone else for why the new production was going to be a complete utter disaster. Everything around here wouldn't be such a fiasco if the Opera Ghost still haunted every inch of the Opera Populair…or at least made his presence known.

Ever since the famous disaster, which was headline news for months in Paris, the Phantom of the Opera seemed to be no more than a dark twisted tale that burned within the fire. Most journalists believed he died within the fire, others believed he fled when the mob came after him, out of fear that he would be murdered, and scouted for a new Opera House to haunt. Madame Giry; however, had reason to believe that both of these hypothesis were wrong.

When the mob, to no avail, went down to find the Phantom in order to punish him for his foolish, uncalled for actions, she refused to believe the Opera Ghost was gone. Madame Giry went seven stories down of the Opera House after the fire was put out, and found the Phantom, unmasked and heartbroken.

She had never seen a sight so repulsive but yet tear jerking all at once. The motherly woman attempted to comfort the Phantom in any way possible; however, the Phantom would not have it. He shunned her away, demanding her never to come down to his lair see him again. If Christine was gone forever, then every soul who was connected to her somehow would be ripped away from his life too.

There was not one night that Madame Giry did not worry about the Opera Ghost that she saved from a Gypsy Freak Show so long ago. She had no solid evidence if he was dead or alive, or if he still remained seven stories below the Opera Populair. Often times the ballet girls would claim that they saw the silhouette of the Phantom, or heard music come from unknown destinations, but Madame Giry never bought any of it. If the Phantom did not want to be seen, than he wouldn't; it was as simple as that. On troubled nights when her constant worrying got to the best of her, Madame Giry would come so close to making a trip to the Phantom's lair, just to make sure he was alright; but, she always stopped herself. Even though his reasons were uncalled for, Madame Giry respected the Phantom's demands, and wouldn't dare to find out the consequences otherwise.

The Opera Populair was at its all time low. Ever since the departure of Christine Daae, tickets that once were sold faster than a wildfire could spread, were now as difficult to sell as a broken toy. After the Opera House was rebuilt, there was countless times when the Opera House was hanging by a thread financially. Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Andre, the two managers, contemplated multiple times of shutting the place down. No one in their right mind dared to buy the Opera House neither when they put it on sale for almost a year nor would anyone who was reasonably wealthy become the Opera House's patron. Luckily, the Opera managed to squeeze just almost money from the pockets of other citizens to begin a new production.

As rehearsals came to a climax, everyone began to exit the Opera House; bundling themselves with layers of clothing in order to not freeze in one of Decembers coldest nights. Madame Giry; however, stayed behind as she did every night, cleaning the floors and putting out all the candles. She did this out of habit; after the Phantom banned her from ever seeing him again, Madame Giry would stay late nights at the Opera in hopes to see a sign of the Phantom's existence. Never once, though, did she hear the light footsteps of the Opera Ghosts, or hear music the seemed to come from the walls of the Opera Populair.

Once just about every candle had been put out, Madame Giry began to exit the main theatre, and began to make her way down to the main entrance of the Opera Populair. Slowly, due to her bad hips, she descended down a flight of stairs.

The woman heard footsteps however, that did not belong to her. She leaned over the railing of the flight of stairs she was on to see the outline of a girl dancing around to no music. Madame Giry automatically assumed that this was one of her ballet girls who should away in their dormitories resting. Never one for people disobeying her orders, Madame Giry began to make her way down the stairs to yell at the ballet girl. Her footsteps were louder than usual due to her anger, causing the girl to notice that Madame Giry was in her presence.

The girl scurried away from her view, and was out of her sight. Madame Giry rushed down the last few steps, ignoring the pain it brought to her hips, and traveled down the staircase and followed where the girl went. The candle light in the room was limited, and made it hard for the woman to see where the girl went. She turned around and saw the outline of the girl, pressed against the east wall. Madame Giry took two steps closer to see who the girl was, when a light casted by the moon above shinned through the window behind Madame Giry.

When she saw the girls face, all her temper went away and was replaced with utter shock. She almost didn't believe her own eyes when she saw that the girl was not one of her ballerinas, but the brown eyed soprano that fled the Opera House five years ago.

"Christine?" She whispered, taking in the state the girl appeared to be.

The girl nodded, making Madame rush up to the Christine and pull her in for a motherly hug, feeling how freezing she was. Christine barely hugged back, but instead looked at the woman with confused, frightened eyes.

Not knowing why Christine was here, or why her eyes seemed to hold the sadness of the world, Madam Giry set her concern on how freezing the woman seemed to be.

"Oh heavens child, you must be freezing! Follow me; I'm going to get some clothes for you to change into and a bucket of warm water to soak your feet in."

Madame Giry did not wait for a respose, and brought her unexpected visitor to a vacant dressing room and lit a fire to warm Christine up with. She then rushed to the small kitchen the Opera House had, and received a bucket, which she filled to the brim with hot, steaming water. She then went backstage to the dressing room, and picked out the most decent dress she saw that seemed about Christine's size.

"Here you go," Madame Giry said as she placed down the water bucket by Christine's feet and the dress by her side. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"No, thank you." Christine whispered, as she placed her almost blue feet into the warm bucket of water.

Madame GIry waited patiently for Christine to explain why she came to the Opera House so late at night, as she placed the ragged dress Christine had on over the fire, but after about five minutes of continued silence, she decided to speak.

"Christine, is everything alright?"

She starred into the fire for a few heartbeats, making Madame Giry fret that something was defiantly, terribly wrong. Christine turned to look at the ballet teacher with tears streaming down her face.

"Where is my father?" Christine asked, looking into Madame Giry's now baffled eyes.

"I beg your pardon?" She asked, not capable of forcing any other words out her mouth. Surely she had heard Christine wrong.

"I- I said," Christine sighed, "where is my father?"

Madame Giry starred at Christine, not knowing how she was supposed to answer such a question. Was this some joke? Christine knew where her father was, how could she not?

"Child, how could you ask me such a question?"

Christine who appeared to be lost and helpless seemed to be on the edge of losing her temper; never once had Madame Giry seen Christine in such way.

"I woke up in a pile of snow just outside of Paris, alone," Christine began, trying to ease my confusion, "I just want to see my father, to make sure he is alright."

Madame Giry closed her eyes, trying to figure out what on earth was wrong with the girl. Why was she alone without her husband? Why didn't she remember what happened to her father?

"You were there, Christine. I was there with you when it happened, don't you remember?" She chocked, remembering the sight of her father wheezing his last breathes.

"No, I don't know what you're talking about and I most certainly don't remember! I- I don't know who you are or how you know me…I just want to see my father." Christine replied, as more tears descended from her chocolate brown eyes when she spoke the last sentence.

Madame Giry knew something was terribly wrong, something had to of happened to her. An accident of some sort; what else could possibly wipe away memories as profound as her father's death?

Feeling uncertain how Christine would react to the news, she decided which way would be best to tell her.

"Go get changed, and meet me by the entrance door when you're ready." Madame Giry demanded, and began to exit the room.

Before Madame Giry closed the door on her way out for her to change, Christine said "You…you know where my father is?"

Madame Giry felt sick to her stomach about all of this. She knew Christine was not going to accept what she was about to show her.

"Yes, my child."

Christine followed Madame Giry through the winter snow, unaware of where they were going. The suspense was killing her, not knowing where her father was when the woman in front of her did. She felt guilty for being so harsh on the woman when all she was doing was trying to help.

"Excuse me, but what is your name?"

The woman stopped and looked back at Christine with a light smile on her face, "My name is Antoinette. Everyone calls me Madam Giry."

Christine nodded, taking in the information, "I'm Christine Daae."

Madam Giry laughed, "I know child, I know."

She began to continue her journey while Christine walked oblivious to her surroundings. They past a gated entrance, and shivered away the bitter cold. Series of graves and sculpted angels surrounded the two women. Christine then gradually than began to wonder why on earth Madam Giry would bring her to a graveyard.

That is until they came to a stop in front a tombstone that read: Gustave Daae.

"No…" Christine shook her head when she looked down at the tombstone in denial. The world began to feel like it was spinning, and the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees colder than it was five seconds ago.

"He- he can't be…" she looked at Madame Giry with her eyes swimming in tears that were waiting to be shed, hoping that Madam Giry would tell her it was not true. "No! The- the doctor said he- he was going to be alright…he told me everything was going to be fine!"

"Christine, it's been over thirteen years since he passed away." Madam Giry whispered, feeling sorrier for the child than ever.

"That's not true! I was just with him…he can't be!"

"Child, I think it would be best if we got you to a doctor-"Madame Giry implied, trying to grasp Christine's hand, but she pulled away and took a few steps back from the ballet teacher.

"I don't need a doctor, there's nothing wrong with me! I just want to see my father!"

"Christine, he's dead!" Madame Giry exclaimed, feeling herself tear up at Christine's denial. "He's _dead_."

Christine dropped to the floor; right next to her father's grave, feeling emotions that she never felt before come rage inside her body. How could this of happened? How could god punish her in such ways? How could life be so cruel! Christine felt everything inside her break; she began to feel her world collapsing into two as every meaning of living vanished. Her father…her one companion…gone. Rivers of tears poured out of her eyes as she lowered her face into her freezing cold hands at the thought she would never hear his voice again. She would never hear him play his music.

She hadn't for thirteen years.

Never had she imagined that she would have to be forced to say goodbye to her father. Not this way at least.

But how could thirteen years of her life be forgotten? How could memories that are supposed to remain with you until your dyeing day somehow vanish?

Christine looked up at Madam Giry; eyes swollen from the tears that continued to leak out of her eyes without any effort.

"Wh- why can I not remember anything?"


	3. A New Beginning

**~Chapter 3- A New Beginning~**

_Past events are left unspoken, questions begin to haunt her mind_

_A honest soul with the courage to explain the past is someone she yearns to find_

_The mystery of a voice that whispers in her ear nearly drives her insane_

_Emotions run wild when the voice demands her to leave in vain_

* * *

The lullaby that continued to hum inside Christine's mind was the only thing that was keeping her sane; she listened to it with her life, enjoying the comfort and familiarity it brought to her confined soul. Receiving the news of her father's death had been anything but easy; however, what bothered her most was she couldn't remember him passing away, let alone any events that occurred to herself beyond her childhood. Her father had died thirteen years ago, making her twenty-one years of age since her last memory. To transition from a grown up from a child in one day was nothing like Christine ever imagined, her maturity corresponded with her age but her mind just couldn't except the fact that she was already grown up.

Christine stayed with Madame Giry the rest of the night, feeling odd that someone who seemed more like a stranger to her than an old friend would take her under her wing with such open arms. Although, Christine had to admit she enjoyed the ballet teacher's company; a night filled with such sorrow shouldn't have to be one to spend alone without someone helping guide you through.

That melancholy night, sleep did not come easy for her, all her mind was capable of thinking about was her father. Tears seemed to flow out of her eyes like a never ending rainstorm as her mind recalled the unexplainable sound of his music and harmony of his laugh. Those little things that she once took for granted were permanently gone.

Madame Giry accompanied Christine to a doctor the following morning, seeing how it was past midnight when she encountered her. When they arrived at the doctor's office, the only good news he had to inform them was that Christine was healthy as a horse. However, by the looks of her bruised head, the doctor assumed she had suffered from a concussion. He explained to them that a probable reason that Christine could not remember how she ended up in the snow without any explanation was because of the profound head injury. The doctor; however, could not explain the reason behind how she could not recall anything that happened to her past the point of her childhood. He had never heard of such a thing, and could not recommend anything to Christine.

Not knowing why, Christine seemed to restrain herself from asking Madame Giry about her past. She knew the ballet teacher had to of known something about her if she reacted in such a way when she found Christine.

Somewhere deep down though, Christine believed she was frightened to find out about her past, what if her past was unpleasant and better left forgotten?

After her appointment at the doctor's office, Madame Giry decided to let Christine tag along with her to her job at the Opera Populair. The brutal snow storm from the previous night had lit up, leaving behind a cloudless blue sky, a chilly gust of wind that blew pleasantly every now again, and piles of luster, white snow. Christine took the unexpected splendid weather as a good sign, giving her confidence that today would not be as dreadful as she imagined.

When the Opera Populair came into Christine's view, she felt a strange sensation travel throughout her body, her heart skipped a few beats and her eyes starred in awe. If she thought the building couldn't look more magnificent the previous night, she was wrong. The way all the colors gleamed off the bright sun above left her breathless; the only thing that could possibly make this moment more precious was if her father was next her, observing the building he dreamed to perform in for so many years.

A wave of heat and the smell of burning wood mingled inside Christine's nose, causing her to stop walking in order to find the source of the fire. She looked behind her, to see nothing but an empty walkway covered with snow, but when she looked back at the Opera House she could not believe her eyes.

The sight of the Opera Populaire consumed with a tremendous fire, under a night sky shocked Christine half to death. She starred at the building as it began to demolish; producing smoke that was growing darker by the second. Every window showed the hypnotic dance of the orangey red flame and the cries of Persians echoed inside her ears. But one voice stood out more to her than the others; a voice of a man weeping.

"_Christine…I love you."_

That voice…it sounded so familiar; like an angel-

"Christine!" Madame exclaimed, snapping her out of her trance.

Confused as to exactly what just happened, Christine looked in the direction of Madame Giry's voice to find her ten feet in front of her. Christine looked back up at the Opera House to see it in perfect condition accompanied once again with a cloudless blue sky. She stood frozen until Madame Giry motioned for her to join her side.

Once they entered the front doors of the Opera House, she immediately forgot about the strange vision she had due to the boisterous screeching, scream or note, Christine did not know which, that echoed throughout the Opera Popualiar.

"What was that?" Christine questioned as she rubbed her eardrums, attempting to get the noise to stop echoing inside her ears.

"_That_," Madame Giry emphasized, "would be Carlotta."

Was it even possible for a human being to make such horrific sounds? Christine could have sworn the noise that woman just produced was loud enough to break every window in the Opera.

"Follow me." Madame Giry demanded as she properly lifted the ends of her solid black dress before making her way up one of the many staircases. Christine couldn't peel her eyes off the beauty of the Opera; it was like nothing she had ever seen before. Its regal atmosphere made her feel like she was a queen.

"What production are they rehearsing?" Christine asked in awe as she watched Madame Giry's ballerinas dance when they entered the main theatre.

"Faust," she replied as she carefully noted every mistake her dancers were making, "it's a rather popular production, have you ever heard of it?"

Christine shook her head, and watched as Madame Giry pushed back her long braid and put on a concerned mien when the ballet girls dance number came to a closure.

"We have one month girls before opening night! At the rate you all are going, I will have you rehearsing day and night until you get the routine perfect." Madame Giry sighed thinking she was too old for this. "From the beginning!" She pounded her walking cane onto the floor to emphasize her demand.

Christine continued to watch the ballet girls, admiring their passion and rhythm. They all performed so beautifully, she couldn't find one reason wrong with their dance number, but then again, what did she know about ballet?

Not sure what she was about to get herself into, Christine questioned "Madame Giry, what does it require to be a ballet dancer here at the Opera Popualir?"

The ballet teacher smiled, she had a feeling Christine was going to want to join sooner or later, "I require basic leaps such as Entrechar, echappe, and jete, as well as determination and willing to learn."

Christine nodded her head, feeling her idea of joining the ballet grow smaller once she realized she did not know the first thing about ballet.

Madame Giry than stopped the dancers when she observed something that would change Christine's role at the Opera Populair, "Where is Catalina?"

* * *

The corps de ballets starred at their teacher, all too frighten to answer. They looked at one another with wide eyes, until Madame Giry pounded her cane on the ground to grasp their attention. "Can any of you tell me where she is?"

"She slipped on a patch of ice last night and twisted her ankle, Madame." A meek ballet dancer whispered.

Frustrated, Madame Giry questioned, "How serious was the injury."

Another ballerina answered, "The doctor said she would have to stay off her ankle for six weeks."

"Six weeks!" Madame Giry excliamed in shock, "_Mon dieu_! How many times have I told you girls to be cautious when walking outside in the snow? Plenty!"

Madame Giry paced worriedly, her best ballerina was injured. It was days like these that she wished Meg would return from her dance concert that was touring around the country, and rejoin the Opera Ballet. She was short on dancers as it was, and there was no way she would be able to find a new replacement in such short notice! Unless, Madame Giry thought as an idea was formed inside her mind…

"Christine, how would you like to join the ballet?" Madame Giry asked.

At the sound of Christine's name, all the other ballet dancers looked at Christine with wide eyes, and began to whisper inside one another's ears. Madame Giry mentally noted to have a talk with her ballet girls about not mentioning anything of Christine's former role at the Opera House five years ago.

"Madame, surely I couldn't," Christine whispered, looking down at her feet in embarrassment, "I don't know the first thing about ballet."

The ballet teacher shook her head, knowing that this was not true, "Your mother was a dancer, correct?

When Christine nodded Madame Giry continued, "Yes, she was a rather fine one if I may say. I know this because we took ballet classes together in Sweden. Now, if you truly are your mother's daughter, you must have inherited some of her talent."

"I…I don't know if that is true, Madame."

"But I do," Madame Giry said assuring, "Girls, clear off the stage."

Once the girls scurried off as they were demanded, the ballet teacher walked on stage with Christine and queued the orchestra to play music from the production of Hannibal.

The young once soprano looked at Madame Giry with shy brown eyes, waiting for her to give her an order.

"Dance."

Christine shook her head, "I can't-

"Never say you can't, Christine. Look deep inside yourself, let the music guide you."

Christine nodded her head, and closed her eyes for a few moments and allowed the music to take control. Madame Giry felt joy come to her as she watched her recite the dance number she had five years ago to Hannibal perfectly. Her toes were pointed exactly right with every leap, and movements were elegant and fluid.

Once the song came to an end, Christine opened her eyes, and Madame Giry contained her excitement to the best of her ability. She blinked away the tears that lingered in her eyes and said, "Welcome to the Opera Populair Ballet."

* * *

In the west wing of the Opera House, Christine was given a dressing room that belonged all to her. The room had only one window, which limited the amount of sunlight that accessed her room. Being part of the Opera House ballet gave Christine the feeling of belonging somewhere, which was the most wonderful feeling in the world.

Her room was provided with a luscious queen sized bed, and a dresser that contained clothes the Madame Giry gave her that once belonged to her daughter. The walls were covered with a deep rose color and the aroma of the dressing room reminded her of newly bloomed flowers. Everything about her room was beyond amazing, but what she enjoyed the most about it was the tall, elegant, body length mirror in the corner. It was surrounded with gold trimming, and had volutes on every corner of it. The mirror; however, seemed to come out of the wall like a secret passageway.

Later that evening, when Christine believed rehearsals were over with, she exited her room and made her way to the main theater. She walked onto the stage, and starred out at the two thousand seats in front of her and at the non lit chandelier. Christine imagined in her mind that every seat was occupied by a citizen and the chandelier was brightly lit, making her visible to everyone. A song than began to play on the piano next to her, in her mind; making every inch of her body long to sing.

Her father had taught her to sing as a young girl, and encouraged her to pursue her dreams of becoming a singer.

She inhaled a deep breath and opened her mouth as lyrics to a song she never thought she knew began to flow from her lips.

"_Think of me, think of me fondly,  
when we've said goodbye.  
Remember me once in a while -  
please promise me you'll try.  
When you find that, once again, you long  
to take your heart back and be free -  
if you ever find a moment,  
spare a thought for me."_

Christine would have continued singing, letting her spirit soar in triumph; however when a woman walked into the room with her mouth wide open in shock, Christine didn't continue.

"_YOU_!" The woman exclaimed furiously, "Just when everything at the Opera starts going good-a you come back!"

"Come back?" Christine said meekly, "what do you mean-

"You are just-a angry because finally I am the main-a attraction in Paris!"

"I think you are mistaken-"

The vulgar woman produced a shrilling laugh, "No-a, it is you who are mistaken." She walked up to the stage so she could be face to face with the confused new ballet dancer.

"Listen here, you-a rodent," She pointed her finger right at Christine, "He is gone; he left when you did. No one wants you-a here. Do us all a favor and be gone-a!"

The woman turned around and stormed her way out of the theater, calling for someone to bring her dogs as she did so.

Christine nearly broke down crying after she left, but her confused sadness was immediately replaced by fear when the piano next to her began playing music, unaided.

She walked up to the piano, wondering how on earth that was even possible. The music kept going as she walked up to it, loud and fast. Christine was tempted to touch the instrument, but when she attempted to, the music was cut off by a piercing music note.

Christine felt everything around her grow cold as the few candles that kept the room lit were put out by the note. She could feel someone or something watching her, causing her to tremble lightly in fear and unable to make her feet move so she could run.

"_Leave_." A voice whispered in her ear, making every hair on her body stand straight up.

"Who- whose there?"

"_Leave_." The voice repeated more audible this time.

Christine, feeling braver this time the voice spoke, swallowed away the dryess in her throat and said, "Show yourself."

The chandelier above her began to flicker on and off, and began to sway back and forth.

"_LEAVE MY OPERA HOUSE AND NEVER COME BACK_!


	4. Angel of Music

**~Chapter Four- Angel of Music~**

_The past is not repeating; it is merely starting a new beginning_

* * *

Maniacal laughter echoed throughout the Opera House theater from the unseen man who demanded Christine to flee; growing louder and more shrilling the closer she came to escaping the room. Her heart pounded fleetingly as she ran away from the hidden voice, not once looking back.

Tears began to leak from her chocolate brown eyes as Christine blindly in the dark made her way to the Opera Populaire chapel. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath once she entered her destination that was dimly lit by the gleams of the moon outside, which penetrated through a stain glass window. She walked over to where a picture of her father lied, covered with layers of dust, and lit the candle that was next to it with a match that someone must have left behind.

The small dancing flame flickered as Christine starred at the image of her father, Gustave Daee, feeling herself grow angry at him for something she knew he couldn't control.

"Why?" She choked as her hand began to slightly tremble, "Why did you have to leave me? You knew I couldn't make it on my own! You knew I couldn't survive without you!"

The rhetorical questions Christine spoke aloud were left unanswered, not that she expected otherwise. She closed her eyes tight when she felt tears mingle in her eyes. Christine was never notorious for losing control of herself, or for being so helpless, but she slowly began to feel every inch of her body breakdown.

"Why can't I remember anything?" She whispered to herself, as if speaking it aloud would give her the answer. "What did I do to deserve this?"

Christine withdrew a breath before a rainfall of tears escaped from her eyes; she held her head within her hands, letting her emotions take over her. Inside her mind, Christine replayed the image of the evil woman recoiling at the sight of her. Her thoughts echoed the delirious laughter of the voice that held such hatred towards her. This place that she once believed would be a paradise to live in held no purpose for Christine any longer, she knew this.

Five minutes went by before Christine was capable of pulling herself together. She sniffled away the remaining tears and wiped away the trial of wetness that remained on her face.

"I- I'm leaving come morning." Christine spoke to her father, knowing he would listening to her in the heavens, "This place holds no purpose for me any longer…I've done something terrible in my past that I can't remember, too terrible to be forgotten."

Christine blew out the candle and withdrew a shaky sigh. She walked up to the stain glass window and pressed her hand onto the glass; enjoying the coolness it brought to it.

"If only you could be with me…" She whispered.

"_Wandering child, so lost, so helpless, yearning for my guidance_." A voice that seemed to echo through the chapel's walls sung out in a heavenly tone.

Christine's soul seemed to rise outside of her body for a split second when she heard a voice sweeter than candy called out to her. She looked all around her, trying to see who had sung those words, but when she found no one in her sight, she began to assume above was listening to rhetorical questions that whole time.

"Father?" She said trance like, looking up at the roof of the chapel, longing for an answer.

Mere seconds past by before the voice responded to her, but to Christine it felt like an eternity.

"No, child. It is your guardian. Your_ Angel of Music_."

Christine mouthed the words of her guardian's name, liking the way it rolled off her tongue. For a minute or so, she starred in the darkness in utter shock as she allowed her body to be restored with hope that someone was watching over her. An _angel_ was guiding her.

"Your father sent me to watch over you, as a guardian and protector."

Speechless, Christine countless times attempted to force words out of her mouth. Fearing that her angel would go away if she didn't say speak, Christine closed her eyes, controlling herself.

"Angel, what am I supposed to do? How can I live my life when everyone shuns me from the only place I am allowed to stay?"

Another silence that left Christine anxious passed by; however, she knew her angel was still with her, she could sense his presence all around her.

"Acceptance," the angel paused, "is never easy to earn; especially when your reputation has been set and stone in everyone's mind. It'll take time to gain, but this doesn't mean you should give up."

"I don't know if I have the strength to not give up." Christine said, feeling a knot in her throat begin to form.

"Let me guide you…let me provide the strength to carry on Christine." The angel spoke earnestly, "That is what your father sent me to do."

Christine smiled at the way her angel wouldn't allow her to give up. She nodded at this, and slowly began to feel his presence fade. Wishing he could of stayed with her longer, Christine put her hand on the cool surface of the chapel for support to lift her up from where she was sitting. After smoothing out her dress, she began to quietly depart from the Opera House chapel, telling herself to never forget this moment.

She found her way to her dressing room without much difficulty, even though her only source of light was provided from the moonlight that shone out of the hundreds of windows throughout the Opera Populaire.

Christine replayed her and the angel's conversation throughout her head as she changed into her night clothes. He sounded so pleased to be watching over her; for the first time since she arrived at the Opera House, Christine began to feel the comforting sensation that her father once brought to her soul.

Was it even possible for her to even rest now? She laid down into her bed mattress, starring at the mirror across from her. Christine's mind however, began to recall the voice which almost scarred her out of the Opera Populaire before she had met her angel. What had she done to upset him so badly? When he first spoke, his voice held the sadness of the world, but when he busted out screaming, she had never felt so frightened in her life.

Christine shut her eyes tight when she felt more tears come over her. Her eyes were swollen from all the crying she had done in the last two days; she just wished it would end. But anytime she began to think about how she couldn't remember her past, or how her father had been dead for thirteen years, tears would just begin flowing out of her chocolate brown eyes effortlessly.

Sensing she was no longer alone in her room, Christine waited for a sign that her Angel of Music was with her once again.

"Dearest, what has caused you such sorrow?"

Christine smiled at the soothing sound to her angel's voice, "My thoughts tend to drive my soul into despair."

"No more tears," the angel persuaded, "There is no reason to cry any longer."

Obeying his order, Christine wiped away the last of her tears, and once again began to feel her angel slip away. She needed to stall her him so he could stay with her for a second longer; to make the moment more memorable than it already was.

"Why are you called the Angel of Music?" Christine questioned, waiting patiently for his answer.

"If you promise me that you will not cry any longer, than I will show you." The angel bargained.

She nodded, thinking that she would have done anything he asked to find out why.

"Close your eyes, Christine…"

She did as she said, and the Angel of Music began to sing her to sleep. His voice was unlike anything she ever heard before; it was so pure…so moving. Her eyes grew heavy as she tried to stay awake just to listen to her Angel sing. However, she could not win the battle in staying awake. The Angels singing allowed for Christine to sleep peacefully, unlike the past night, and not think about all that she had lost, but of what she had gained.

* * *

_A/N: Thankyou all for the wonderful reviews I have gotten so far! I apperciate it soooo much! If you have any critisim you'd like to share, I will gladly take it like a good sport. Please don't stop reviewing! _

_Also, I'd like to credit my sister (her account is HowlingWolf94, check her out!) for helping me through this story, Without her I proabably would of deleted it. Once again thankyou! Sorry for the shorter chapter today :/_


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